Roses in a Vase of White
by Raven Lee
Summary: A pair of young women, one with the power to become a fearsom creature the other with the power to know a person's past with a single touch, befriends a Gen-Xer. But all in not what it seems.
1. Prologue

Roses in a Vase of White  
Raven Lee  
  
Disclaimer: Marvel characters belong to Marvel, my characters belong to me. I'm not making any money on this little story, so please don't sue me. ::big puppy dog eyes:: Pwetty pwease wif sugar on top? And please don't use my characters, few that they may be. I kinda like them, and wouldn't really want anyone else writing them without my permission.  
Archiving: Please ask first. I like to know who keeps my stories in case, heaven forbid I happen to lose them at some point of time.  
Notes: This is a little bit graphic in parts. I really suggest that kids don't read it, but, of course, you're probably going to anyway, so what can I do about it? ::shrugs:: I give this an R rating. I'd explain why, but I really don't want to give away the whole plot of the story. Just know that if the idea of abuse upsets you enough to start flaming me, then don't even read it. If the idea of teen sex (16-17 year olds) offends you, then don't read it either. Also, I think I should give credit to Stabbing Westward. If it weren't for their song, "Sleep," and the fact that I had to look up the lyrics to understand what they were singing, I never would have gotten this idea. The name for this story came from an Alice in Chains song.  
Continuity: Um, I don't know when this happens exactly, some time before the school opened to the public. What Gen-X issue was that? Anyone know?  
Thanks: Thanks goes out to Lacy, who would read anything I tossed before her and always begged me for more even if she didn't understand the X-Men parts. And of course, as always, thanks goes out to Shera, who's been a great encouraging friend for five years. None of this would happen without you girl, thanks you fluffy thing you.  
Flaming: If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. Flaming is the whole reason I haven't written in more than two years. Constructive criticizing is not flaming, and it's not mean if said in the right way. Please think a little bit before sending me feed back. Thanks.  
Feedback: Feedback to writers is like water to flowers, so water a writer today!  
  
Prologue  
  
The footsteps came again. As they did every night. Starting at the end of the hallway and stopping right outside her door. Close. Oh so close. She pulled the blankets up, leaving only her eyes uncovered as she stared intently at the door. She shivered under the blankets, teeth chattering although she was beginning to sweat.   
  
The doorknob slowly turned with a squeak.   
  
She'd taken one of the screws out a few weeks ago, so now it was noisy and hard to turn. Even had she been asleep when the footsteps had sounded down the hall, the sound of the knob turning would now wake her.  
  
He came into the room, never minding that the door squeaked. Her mamma had probably taken those funny little pink pills so she could sleep. She knew she couldn't scram for her momma when she took those, 'cause nothing could wake her up then.  
  
She closed her eyes and evened out her breathing as she had practiced just as he stepped into the room. Despite feeling the need to open her eyes when she felt him standing right over her, she stayed calm and quiet, refusing to even flutter her eyelids.  
  
Breathe.  
  
In. Out. In. Out.  
  
Nice, even breaths. Deep in the way sleepers breathe.  
  
A roll of the eyes under her eyelids. Mimicking dreams. Back and forth, up and down. Over and over again.  
  
Stay still, stay calm. He won't hurt her if he doesn't know she's awake.  
  
The sound of a zipper being pulled down was unmistakable.  
  
Her whole body wanted to quake, she wanted to cry out, call for her momma, anything but stay here and listen to…But she stayed quiet, knowing he would be gone in just a little while. It never lasted long.  
  
His breath came out in quick little gasps; he was talking to her. Whispering. Calling her daddy's little girl, his little slut, his pretty little princess. There were other words; words she knew were bad. Momma used to yell at him for saying things like that in front of her. But Momma wasn't here now.  
  
He stayed longer tonight then he usually did, reaching forward to run his fingers through the silken curls that lay on her pillow. It was the only time he touched her. She felt him tug on her hair slightly, probably trying to see if he could wake her. She made a face and rolled onto her side, still mimicking sleep.  
  
After a while, he finally gave up and left, leaving white goo on the floor for her to clean in the morning. The room stank of it now and some had gotten onto the bedspread. But still, she didn't move. His footsteps hadn't retreated back down the hall yet. She didn't dare make a sound until they did. The first time she had, he had come back, calling her his little girl and licking his lips. He had kissed her in the way she'd seen him kiss her momma, making her lay back down on the bed. He'd crushed her with his heavy weight. Then there had been the pain after he'd pulled up her nightgown, and that was all she remembered.  
  
She had drifted away to another place while her body had taken the "punishment," as he called it.  
  
The next morning he had told her she was a bad little girl because she'd been awake past her bedtime, and that was why he had punished her. From now on, he'd told her, she would always be asleep when she was supposed to be or else he would punish her again. Then a funny look had come into his eyes as he told her that he could make her feel really good if she wanted to be *bad.* The way he had said "bad" sent shivers down her spine. She didn't really understand what he meant, but she was smart enough to know that she didn't want to be bad anymore.  
  
Knowing that the pain could come only made it worse at night as she listened for his footsteps. Sometimes they came but he didn't enter her room. On those nights she never got any sleep at all, just knowing that as soon as she drifted away to the place where dreams are made he would come. She was afraid of him, scared of what he would do to her if he ever found out that she was only pretending to sleep. Scared of the pain he could cause her; scared because he told her he would do the same thing to her momma if she ever told.  
  
After what seemed like forever, his footsteps retreated down the hall, followed soon by the sounds of the shower running. It was over, for tonight at least. Tomorrow he might be back. Then again, he might not.  
  
She kicked the sheets off the bed and pulled her benki out from under her pillow. After wrapping the tattered blanket around her little body, she curled into a ball on the far side of the bed, as far from the smell as she could get and still be lying on the mattress.  
  
Despite trying to be a big girl and not a little baby, she begun to cry large silent tears and stuffed her thumb in her mouth. She sent a small prayer up to heaven, wishing that one of them would die. 


	2. Chapter One

Roses in a Vase of White  
Chapter One  
  
Notes and disclamer in Prologue  
  
  
"We got a new dishwasher." Amy-Beth, a petite seventeen year old, didn't even bother to look up from where she sat, legs crossed, at a table neatly folding napkins into a flower shapes and stuffing them with forks and knives. She knew without looking that Rosalynn D'More was the one who had walked in and not a customer. Roz never made a sound when she walked, even in high heels, unlike most people. It was a unique talent that Amy-Beth envied.  
  
Beyond that, however, Amy-Beth knew it was her just from the feeling of her presence in the room. She knew and remembered everyone she had ever met simply from the feeling of their…aura for lack of a better word. Remembering people *and* remembering their names after only meeting them once made her a great waitress. She could live on tips alone if she needed to. Not that she got payed that much anyway.  
  
"He's realla cute ta," she added cheerfully.  
  
Rosalynn sighed softly as she hung her coat on a hook by the door. "You think anyone with stuffing in his pants is cute, Amy-Beth."  
  
"Ow, someone's touchy this mornin'," the younger girl turned around in her chair to look at her friend and gasped when she saw the deep purple bruise over her eye that her heavily applied makeup couldn't cover. "Dear God, girl! What the hell happened ta you?!" She stood quickly, moving around the tables to get to her.  
  
"It's okay, Amy-Beth," Roz said, giving her a tight smile. "Joel didn't take the news as well as I could have hoped."  
  
"That bastard *hit* you?"  
  
Roz shrugged. "I knew better. I should have told him before he introduced me to his parents. It was too much of a shock for him, I guess."  
  
"Oh, Roz!" Amy-Beth hugged her tightly laying her cheek against her shoulder. "You shouldn't be making excuses for him. If he can't see how great you are despite the color of your skin, he's not worth your time."  
  
Roz shrugged. "And neither was Berry, or Marten, or Matt, or a slew of other guys," she said, unwrapping her scarf. "Men just suck. I swear if I didn't like them so much, I'd lay off them forever. God, I don't want to train someone new today," she sighed, casting a glance over her shoulder to the double doors leading into the kitchen.   
  
"Why don't you just go on back home? Take a sick day. I'm sure Max will understand."  
  
"Yeah, Max'll understand, but it wouldn't be fair for me to leave him short one cook for a few hours. Especially when there's a new guy who probably doesn't know a three-compartment sink from a toilet. James isn't even here yet, is he?" Amy-Beth shook her head. "Figures. I guess it wouldn't be nice to pawn him off on James anyway. Did you ask him is he has a problem with mutants, by the way?"  
  
Amy-Beth shook her head. "I never even thought about it. I thought Max probably would have…"  
  
"Max is too kind hearted and naive. He's convinced that everyone thinks the same way he does, and doesn't quite realize how many cruel people there really are out there." She sighed again, reaching up to touch the bruise on her cheek. And here she'd thought she'd finally found someone who didn't give a rat's ass about what she was and liked her for *who* she was. Now who was being naive?  
  
"Oh-oh." Amy-Beth said, going to the door, getting ready to push it open.  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's the Sandersons. You better get into the kitchen before they see you."  
  
Roz rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag. The elderly Sandersons were a very nice couple who came to the restaurant at least three times a week, staying, usually, all through breakfast and lunch. They were sweet and kind, very grandparent-like people who worried constantly about both girls because they each lived alone without family near by. All Roz needed right then was a lecture from Joanne Sanderson about not having someone to protect her, or a long discussion with Matthew Sanderson about the importance of family.   
  
She could already see their horrified expressions if she looked nearly as bad as she felt. "Tell them we won't officially be serving breakfast for another hour, but I'll go ahead and start the raspberry tea" she called over her shoulder as she pushed open the "in" door and stepped into the kitchen.  
  
Finally she smiled. Now she was home.  
  
The kitchen was larger than ones in most restrants, mainly because the ownder, Max, was clostraphopic and too many people in a tight space made him nervice. The three compartment sink was already set up with water and sanitizing salution, and the large dishwasher beside it was already running. Two large three compartment ovens stood like iorn gients in the back, hopefully already warming up for the many loaves of bread and countless dinner rolls Roz'd have to fix throughout the day.   
  
Two convection ovens, two veggie sinks, six gas stoves with their own ovens, one grittle, two large grills, three refrigerators and one walk-in completed the rest of the kitchen with a slew of other, moveable exuipment like mixers and the deep fat friers. There was tons of room between everything for people to be able to move around in comfertably. Roz liked that. She could pick up her cutting board from one of the three stainless steal tables they worked on and walk to the sink without worrying about running into people.  
  
With no more than five people, not counting the waitstaff, working in the kitchen at one given point of time, everyone was more like family than co-workers. Because of this, roz wasn't afrade of being outed as a mutant and useually washed away the layers of make-up she painsakingly aplied every morning, and took out her blue contacts. She was never so comfertable, not even at home, with who she was than with these people she worked with.  
  
James, the only other cook who worked days, sat in the little area set aside for the kitchen staff to take their break, drinking coffee and talking to a Latino-boy who sat across from him.  
  
Roz frowned. "Hiding from Amy-Beth, are we?"  
  
James, a tall, slightly pudgy, blond haired twenty-three year old looked up at her, a bright smile on his face. "Morning Roz…" he blinked. "What the hell happened to your face?"  
  
Roz shruged, setting her bag down by the swinging doors. "Walked into a door." James gave her a look, letting her know he didn't aprecheate her humor. "Look, James, I don't want to talk about it, okay? I feel bad enough as it is." She looked over him at the new dishwasher, surprised slightly by his uncommon good looks. Dark in hair and eyes, he looked tall and slender, even sitting. The color of his skin, an almost grey shade, made him look as though he hasn't seen the sun in more years than could be told. He was excotic looking.  
  
"Hi, I'm Roz," she said, moving over to him, arms crossed over her chest to keep herself from offering him a handshake. She looked him over, trying to force herself to look indifferent.  
  
"Angelo," he said simply, eyes on her face.  
  
Roz brushed her cheek against her shoulder, scratching an itch. "I don't know if Max asked you or not, but do you have a problum with mutants?"  
  
Angelo raised an eyebrow, an amused smerk on his face. "I have no problums with mutants, chica." Laughter tinted his voice, making her think he was laughing at her.  
  
"No problums with working beside them, or anything else?"  
  
"Nada."  
  
Roz smiled brightly, offering him her hand. "Good, welcome to Elmo's then."  
  
James, not at all amused by her little performance, frowned. "I'd already asked him that, Roz."  
  
"Yeah, well," she shruged, "I asked him too. What can it hurt?" She walked over to the changing room, snaging her bag as she went.   
  
"Roz," James said warningly, giving her a look that said she wasn't going to get away with not telling him how she'd gotten the shiner, even though he probably already knew.  
  
"Oh, the Sandersons are here, I'll start some bread and tea when I get back out." She disapeared into the changing room, grining at him over her shoulder and completely ignoring his warning tone.  
  
Anglio blinked, watching her. "She always like that?"  
  
James sighed and shook his head, following her. "Only around strangers." He pushed open the door and steped inside, backing out quickly again as a roll of tolet paper flew at him and she screamed, "Get out!"  
  
James, red faced, went back to his seat and ploped down in it. "I'll talk to her when she comes back out..."  
  
---TBC--- 


End file.
